


waking up the giants

by MANIAvinyl



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Depression, Gen, Hurt Peter, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt Tony Stark, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Panic, Panic Attacks, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Feels, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Peter Parker is a Mess, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Feels, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:21:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23292367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MANIAvinyl/pseuds/MANIAvinyl
Summary: Peter thought he had them under control, the panic attacks. He thought he’d figured out how to keep up his front until he was alone. Clearly, he didn’t.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Kudos: 101





	waking up the giants

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn’t pick a title so I just used the song I was listening to at the moment

Peter didn’t know what he expected when he took Tony’s call a few weeks ago, but he was sure he didn’t think it would be anything important. Let alone VIP passes to a Unesco Heritage Convention in Belgium, at which Tony would be giving the headlining speech.

But at this point, Peter’s learned to expect the unexpected when around the great Tony Stark.

They gave Peter his own driver— Tony wanted some space. It made sense. They also gave him a suite in the city’s nicest hotel, overlooking the ancient streets of Anderlecht, Brussels. It was the dream. Or at least, it was supposed to be, but Peter knew he hadn’t exactly been himself lately; his nerves had been shot. Maybe it was the stress of school, and college apps. Maybe it was the whole spider-man side job. Honestly, it was probably a mix of the two, plus a little bit of lasting anxiety from the whole one-inch-away-from-death thing.

So after that first day of the convention, as they made their way from the Amstel Hall to the lower amphitheater, Peter felt that familiar sinking of his heart beating out of time. 

He counted four quick pounds behind his ribcage before his slow breaths steadied it. He blinked, swallowing and then looking back up at Tony, who had turned around. He had a funny look on his face, confused, yet passive. 

“What’s wrong, spider? You see a giant newspaper? Maybe a big shoe?” Tony smirked at his own joke.

Peter shook his head, trying to shrug it off. It didn’t quite work, he still felt a nervous buzzing in his throat, but he calmed enough to keep walking. 

“Anyways,” Tony said, suspicious, but not too worried. “You won’t believe what I have lined up for you tomorrow. You know that Brown University internship gig you were talking about? The dean...”

Tony didn’t stop talking, but Peter sort of let his words drown out. He looked down at his hands; they were still shaking. That wasn’t a good sign.

He sort of felt helpless. It was like anticipation for something he didn’t want to go through again, but he knew it was inevitable. He just hoped it didn’t happen in front of Tony, or anyone else he knew.

But things never really went in his favor, did they?

“You’re awfully quiet today,” Tony remarked as they moved up the stairs.

“Can we just get back to the hotel?” Peter muttered. He knew he sounded harsh but he didn’t have it in him to care; he knew the attack was coming and he just didn’t want it here.

“Woah. Aggressive,” Tony said, eyes narrowed. “Did something happen? What are you so mad at?”

“I’m fine. I’m not mad.” His fingernails dug into the skin on his palms. 

“That’s exactly what an angry person would say. I’ve lived with a woman long enough to know that.”

“I’m not a woman.”

“Yeah, you’re acting like a child right now, actually. What’s gotten into you?”

It was that moment that Peter’s breath caught in his throat, and the panic that he had so desperately tried to shove down finally spilled over. It was sudden, like a strong wave after a slowly receding tide. Like he’a thought he might be able to make it back in time, but the universe had other plans. 

Like embarrassing him in front of the one person he looked up to most. 

He gripped the metal railing tightly, shutting his eyes to try to block out the light. He knew there were people walking around, through this long hallway, and he also knew that Tony was looking at him like he’d just turned purple, or something.

He stumbled forward, until his hands left the metal railing and trailed along the glass of a window-wall. They were on the second floor, so this window just overlooked the grass and collection of buildings in the convention center. His chest heaved as he hyperventilated, and it felt like being stuck out at sea. Drowning.

He’d only been in the ocean a handful of times. He’d seen it plenty, on trips to long island or parties in the Hampton’s, but submerged in the sea, at the merciless beck and call of the angry tides, was something else entirely. It’s that same feeling he got that cloudy day in California, as the set came in, and the tide pulled him out, and his muscles ached and his lungs burned as he tried like hell to keep his head above water. The ocean was terrifying, and so were these anxiety attacks.

Tony was staring. He was also saying something to Peter, that sounded like “what are you doing,” or maybe it was “where are you going?” He felt the need to provide an explanation, but he didn’t quite want to tell Tony Stark that he was having another panic attack— the third this week, actually— however, he figured telling Tony what not to do was okay.

“Don’t tell Aunt May,” Peter gasped, eyes screwed shut as his chest rose and fell. “You can’t tell her.”

“What?” Tony said, eyes narrowed. “Pete, open your eyes. It’s okay.”

“You can’t tell her,” Peter repeated breathlessly, voice strained. He covered his face with his hands to block out the light, back pressed flat against the cold glass panel. His breath caught in his throat.

“What’s going on?” Tony demanded, and his voice sounded frantic. “Talk to me. What’s wrong? Was it what I said? Look, I’m sorry—”

Peter just shook his head, pulling in ragged, gasping breaths. His hands were shaking like leaves in the wind, and his vision was sort of distorted. Like he knew where Tony was, but everything else was blurred. 

“Look at me, do I need to call someone?” Tony was crouched down at his level now.

“Just give me a minute,” Peter gasped. That dull static seemed to fill his lungs, and spread throughout his body, and for a moment he had that instant thought that he wished he were dead. 

It didn’t hang around often. Maybe every once and a while it would come back, that strange, nagging thought, and although he knew he would never act on it, it always made him stop and think.

And maybe that’s what snapped him out of it, or at least what caused the panic to start to subside, because after that he could think a little clearer. He looked around, eyes foggy, at the people who were walking past, who all gave him a quick, passive glance, and then went about their days. His stupid, malfunctioning nervous system meant nothing to the rest of the world. Not that he cared at all, but it was a funny thought. 

After a few minutes of sitting there, leaning against the glass, catching his breath, he looked up at Tony. He rubbed his face, shame burning in his stomach. Did that really just happen?

He didn’t talk, though, he just slowly stood up after that, limbs aching with exhaustion, and then started walking back down the hall. He heard Tony scramble to get up and follow him.

“Pete, you don’t have to—“

“Please don’t say anything,” he said quietly, and his voice betrayed how tired he felt. 

“What?” Tony stooped walking, and Peter turned around.

“Can we just go back to the hotel now?” He asked softly, still mildly out of breath. “I just... I don’t know. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Only then did Peter find some sort of understanding in Tony’s eyes, though he was partly convinced it had been there all along.

“Yeah, of course,” Tony murmured. “You want any snacks? Maybe a smoothie? There’s a cafeteria around the corner.”

“No thanks. It’s alright,” Peter sighed, feeling awkward just standing there. “I just want to go back.”

“No problem.” 

Tony didn’t say anything else, just walked next to him as they made their way down the hall, through the lawns that were surrounded by buildings older than the English language, and then through the double doors of the fancy hotel.

When they got up to the room, before Peter swiped his key, he looked up at Tony. 

“Please don’t tell May,” he said. And that was it. He didn’t wait for a response, mostly because he was tired, but in part because he just wanted to be alone as soon as possible.

He shut the door behind him, pressed his back flat against it, tilted his head back, and tried like hell not to cry.

—

He fell asleep at four in the afternoon. He felt a little bad about that, because he knew Tony had some panel lined up for him, but he just was too exhausted to care.

He woke up at eight and checked his phone. The news headline: “Billionaire Tony Stark Makes Appearance at International Unesco Convention.” He checked for see if he was in any photos. He was not.

He also had a few emails and a few texts from his friends, but he left them unopened because he was sure he didn’t have the energy to hold a conversation. 

And one text from Tony himself. It said, “Call me when you can.” Sent one hour ago.

That was mysterious, but he figured it wasn’t too unreasonable. 

He called Tony. It answered with a click, and it sounded like he was someplace busy.

“Sorry, I fell asleep,” Peter said. 

“Yeah, I figured,” Tony responded. “You still at the hotel?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I can head over there if you want. You’re eighteen, right?”

“Yes?”

“Good. Just checking.”

—

When Peter opened the door, Tony had two beers in hand. Peter blinked, remembering the drinking age in Europe.

“Don’t stare. Just take it.” 

“Uh... okay.”

“Have you ever had alcohol before? Wait, no, don’t answer that.”

Peter held the bottle in his hand. “Do I have to drink it?”

“Well, no. Of course not.“ He gave Peter a funny look.

“Oh. Okay.”

“Do you want to go back downstairs? There’s a nice seating area. Maybe get some calamari.”

For some reason, that actually sounded really good, so he agreed and let Tony lead him down the elevator. 

When they sat down in the booth, in the gentle, almost-dim lighting, the big window showing off the pale gray Belgium sky, Peter had that same empty feeling in his chest. He sort of wondered if Tony felt it too, like maybe he wasn’t the only one.

He took a sip of beer, the familiar, warming taste reminding him of better times. Of being happy with his friends, of laughter, of long, drunken nights.

“Does that happen a lot?” Tony asked after a while. 

“Does what happen?”

“In the hallway, back there. Does that happen a lot?”

Peter hesitated. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he murmured finally.

“Okay. Alright. That’s fine.” Tony took a sip of his beer. “I’m not gonna push it.”

“Thanks,” Peter said.

“I have one question, though, and that’s it. Why can’t I tell May?”

Peter looked up quickly, but didn’t respond right away.

He settled for a weak, “I don’t know.”

“Listen, kid, I’m your legal guardian right now. And If I don’t know what’s going on with you, I’m going to have to call your aunt. That’s just what happens.”

Peter shook his head, and nervous butterflies floated in his stomach. 

“Look, if it’s a health thing, I need to know. That’s a rule.”

“What rule?” Peter muttered.

“Well, is it?”

“It’s not a health thing. I mean, it’s— I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. I’m fine.”

“I get it. You don’t want to talk. I’ve been there. But... but if you’re... _at risk_ or something...”

“I’m not at risk,” he confirmed swiftly.

Tony seemed to get that through his head finally, that Peter didn’t want to talk, and dropped the subject. They talked about something else, about the panels lined up and some new technology that Tony’d seen.

It was refreshing to simply let Tony talk; it was a kind of strange look inside his functioning mind. Peter found it fascinating, the way Tony seemed to think about things. He was sure he could listen for hours.

And then in one striking moment, Peter realized that he was talking to the man who was writing the blueprints for the world of the future. He not only had the ambition; he had the brains and he had the resources.

Entire cities fueled by clean energy. Cars that run only on electromagnetism from the ground they drive. Underwater superhighways. World-changing ideas that people thought about but could never pursue... Tony tried.

“It’s been happening more,” Peter murmured, after Tony had stopped talking. Peter could feel his heartbeat in his chest. “The anxiety attacks.”

“So you know what it is.”

“I mean, I think so,” he said. “What else could it be? I don’t have asthma. It’s not that.”

“Good point.” Tony looked sort of unhinged when Peter looked up, and it made him nervous.

“What?” he said. 

“It’s just... you don’t get flashbacks, do you?”

“I mean... not really.”

“Not really?” he echoed.

“Yeah, like, sometimes I’ll get some strange feeling, and it’s close to what I felt when my uncle passed, or something, but... I don’t know. Not really.” He cut of awkwardly, remembering that fight in Germany. He didn’t want to tell Tony that sometimes he felt as helpless as he did on that tarmac underneath that collapsing plane, or underneath that crumbling building back on the south end of Brooklyn. 

“Oh.”

Peter swallowed thickly. “May doesn’t know. She can’t know,” he said. “You can’t tell her.”

“Why not?” Tony challenged. “She can help. She loves you.”

“That’s why she can’t know,” Peter explained quietly. “She tries so hard. She does everything for me, and I feel like this... this will let her down.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Well, I know she’d think it’s her fault, and... and it... it sure as hell isn’t.”

“It’s not your fault, either.”

Peter didn’t respond to that, just stared across with a blank look, and Tony sighed.

“You know that, right? That this isn’t your fault?”

Peter kept staring, and then opened his mouth like he was going to speak, but then closed it again. “I— I mean, I don’t know. Maybe it is,” he stuttered in his reply. 

Tony looked sort of sad when Peter said that, and he regretted it instantly.

“I’m asking for a reason, Pete. You can’t keep thinking that it’s your fault.” Tony took another long sip of beer. “That’s not how you get any better.”

“So it can get better,” Peter said. He felt his mouth say the words, but they didn’t really register in his brain until a few moments later: It didn’t have to be like this.

“Of course it can,” Tony said softly. “I’m proof of that.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed, and realization crashed over him like a surging wave.

“You had them too,” he said, jaw set forward.

“Mhm.” Tony’s eyes seemed to burn into his soul.

Peter felt his chest close in, little by little, as if silently telling him to abandon ship. To run away, and keep this to himself like he always has. He doesn’t need anyone, because what he has is manageable. That was what his conscious was telling him, and for a split second, he tried to believe it. 

But the reality was that his anxiety wasn’t manageable anymore. He couldn’t stave it off until he was alone anymore, and he couldn’t function normally like he used to be able to.

“I don’t know what to do,” he breathed. “It’s getting worse.”

“When you were younger— you don’t have to answer this, by the way, if you don’t want— but when you were younger, did your aunt ever take you to counseling?”

Peter’s muscles twitched, and he moved his eyes down.

“Maybe. I can’t really remember.”

“You can’t remember.”

Peter shifted. “If it was therapy, or whatever, I wouldn’t have known.”

“I see.” Tony sighed. 

“Yeah.” Peter’s jaw was clenched.

“Look, I know you’re uncomfortable.”

“Oh, is it that obvious,” Peter muttered sarcastically. He wiped his forehead with his wrist.

“If you really don’t want to talk to me, that’s fine. I won’t overstep.” He paused, raising one eyebrow. “Am I overstepping?”

Peter hesitated. “No.”

“You sure? I can stop if you want. Personal space, touchy subject, whatever.”

“Yeah. No, it’s—it’s fine,” Peter murmured. “You can— we can— you can keep talking.”

“Okay. Good.” Tony swallowed, but looked a little lost, as if this was uncharted territory for him, too.

“The panic attacks have gotten worse. More... frequent.”

“Worse or more frequent?”

“Uh... both?” 

Tony nodded once. “But you said you’re not at risk.”

“Yeah.” Peter shifted, noticing that he felt slightly less uncomfortable. “This thing just... gets in the way. And it used to not really get in the way, but I guess something changed.”

“And you don’t have any idea of what changed it?”

“I mean... I don’t know. Maybe. It’s stupid, though.”

“I’m sure it isn’t,” Tony murmured.

Peter took a deep breath, looking up into Tony’s eyes. All he saw was comfort.

He knew what triggered all of this anxiety. Or, at least, he was pretty sure he knew.

The last few years were a train wreck for Peter, not only mentally, because of all the shit that went on with the Avengers and the girl and the criminals, but also physically, because he wasn’t sure he’d ever worked himself to the brink of collapse until that day in Germany. Not to mention his body had been changing, and it wasn’t puberty this time. It was the radioactive DNA that was now intertwined with his own.

All of that, on top of the stress of school and junior year and the hyper- competitiveness of classes and grades. 

But now the dust had settled, and he’d sorted through the rubble and destruction of his old life and had built this new one from the pieces he found. And it worked.

He was happy now, he realized slowly, all in one quick moment as he looked at Tony. He was happy. 

And yet, it seemed that his body, his brain, it was still anxious from whatever trauma he’d seen these past few years— except there was nothing really to be anxious about. So then came the panic attacks.

At least, that’s the only logical conclusion that Peter had found for why that part of him had gotten so much worse. 

Except he didn’t quite know how to communicate all that to Tony.

A weak response of, “It’s complicated,” was what he settled on saying.

“Of course it’s complicated,” Tony murmured. “But could you just try to explain?”

Peter nodded, shifting in his seat, keeping his eyes down on the table.

“Yeah. Um, I... I don’t know. I’ve been under a lot of stress recently, you know? Like... like with the whole spider thing, and the other stuff... so I think my body learned how to handle all that stress. But now I’m not stressed, because everything is fine, but my body still... still _has_ all that anxiety.” Peter swallowed, shaking his head, face burning. “That didn’t make any sense. Sorry.”

“It makes sense,” Tony assured, and it looked like he was thinking.

Peter bit his lip, arms tingling, as if he could almost feel the awkward tension in the air between them. Because this conversation wasn’t normal; it was uncharted territory for them both.

“I just... I don’t know what to do,” Peter murmured, pushing on despite the discomfort. “I thought it would all be fine after everything settled, but it’s just not.”

“Yeah.” Tony shifted. “Look, I want to help you. I do. But only if you’re okay with it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” Tony admitted. “You’re a legal adult, and everything, but... I’m just not sure if I’m fully equipped.”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to—“

“No, that’s not what I’m saying,” Tony interrupted. “I do want to help. We just might have to involve your aunt. I don’t want to be hiding things from her, you know?”

“I guess.”

“You guess.”

“Yeah, I don’t know. She loves me too much, though. This will hurt her.”

“Maybe not,” Tony argued.

“Are you kidding?” Peter scoffed. “She lost her sister, her brother in law, her husband, any chance at raising a real family— because of me. And she still loves me.”

“You’re scared she will stop loving you?” Tony asked, bewildered. 

“No, no, no, of course not,” Peter backtracked. “I just want her to know she’s done such a great job.”

“And you’re afraid that your... _issues_... are going to shadow all that out.”

“I guess so.”

Tony was silent, studying Peter, and then studying the table, and then studying the people around them.

“Okay,” Tony said after a while. “You want help but not from your aunt. How do we do that?”

Peter looked up helplessly. “I don’t know,” he said. “If I knew I wouldn’t be here.”

“Fair.” Tony finished the last of his beer. “We can maybe do out-patient without your aunt knowing. You are a legal adult.”

“Out-patient?” he echoed.

“Therapy. Counseling. Whatever you call it.”

“Oh.” Peter swallowed. “I don’t know.”

Tony hesitated. “I want to help, but this is the best I’ve got.”

“I know. I’m sorry, I—“

“No, stop it. No apologizing,” Tony interrupted, and Peter was sure something in his voice changed. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Okay,” Peter murmured. 

“You’re nervous.”

“A little, yeah,” he sighed. “It’s okay, though.”

“It’ll be okay, kid,” Tony said quietly.

Peter just nodded, and then the conversation went silent. But it wasn’t awkward, not after a while, and for a small moment Peter really believed it— that everything would turn out fine.

By that time, the sky outside had grown dark, and Peter was exhausted yet again; the nap hadn’t done any good, it seemed.

The minute he stepped into his suite and stumbled into the bed, he fell asleep.

—

Apparently, it was only nine when Peter kicked out, and the unfortunate habits of teenage high school life was his body relying on much less sleep than it should. So he woke up at 5:22 in the morning— he checked— and knew he wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep.

He made himself some tea, and sat down on the couch which faced the window that looked east.

East, where, somewhere, was Germany, and then Poland, and then maybe even the Baltic Sea.

He wondered, for a moment, that, after all this history, all the people who lived and died on these European grounds, if any of them ever felt like he did.

Stuck. Trapped. Aimless, with a burden that felt far too heavy for mortal hands, and with not the slightest idea of how to free himself of it.

And it’s not like these panic attacks were the end of the world. It’s not like he wanted to kill himself; he didn’t have depression, or even if he did, it was functional, not severe. This anxiety was just a roadblock in his path, except it seemed to be growing bigger by the second, and it was looking far more overwhelming than he’d ever imagined.

But... free himself of it. Was that really what he needed to do? Or maybe there was another angle to this. He shut his eyes in frustration; he didn’t know, and he was pretty sure he might never know. He just didn’t have the resources.

And Tony... Tony was _Tony_. It felt strange talking about his stupid, malfunctioning brain chemicals to the most powerful man in the western world. It just didn’t feel right.

A voice in his head was starting to challenge that, though. It said, _if you can’t talk to May, and you can’t talk to him, then who?_

Peter argued back. Maybe he’d talk to Ned, or MJ. They care about him.

But they’re still just kids. And maybe if Peter wanted to get better, like, _really_ get better, he’d have to do something more. And maybe Tony was his best bet.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi thanks for reading! If u liked this perhaps consider checking out the rest of my stories? Anyways ty


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